Diana Cosby

by His Seduction

  His smile fell away. “I assure you, my lady, neither do I. But for now, ’tis what fate, or rather you, have created.”

  “’Twas not I who proposed marriage.”

  “No,” he replied, his words soft with a hint of anger, “but ’twas you who claimed I left you with a babe.”

  “I thought you a threat to my father—a belief that hasna changed.”

  “And what part did the red-haired Scot who stood near you play?” Lord Monceaux asked. “He looked none too pleased by your false claim.”

  Sir Lochlann. “He is a friend.”

  A muscle worked in the baron’s jaw. “A friend?”

  Sir Lochlann wanted more than friendship, an aspiration she didna share. A fact she’d nae tell this Englishman.

  At her silence, he nodded. “While we are wed, you will meet with no man without me or proper escort present.”

  “How dare you dictate my actions!”

  “I dare much.” Hazel eyes darkened with warning. “Until our union is disengaged, you will heed my commands.”

  “I will nae spend my time with you.”

  “You will. Nor will you cause me grief—your father’s life depends on it.”

  “A threat?”

  “An assurance.”

  “Bastard.”

  “At times.”

  “And others?” she flung out, her words reckless with fear.

  “A trusted friend.” God’s teeth, why had he said that? Never would he and Rois be friends. Once Angus returned, he would convince the man of the folly of allowing his and Rois’s marriage to continue. But he would keep watch over Rois in the meantime, and for the sake of his sanity, he would negotiate a fragile peace.

  Griffin nodded. “Please, use my name.”

  Green eyes he could drown in watched him with distrust, but he also caught the fear. There was so much she didn’t understand, nor ever could.

  “Why should I?” she asked.

  He drew in a slow breath, reminded himself of all of the reasons it was best to find common ground. “’Tis my name.”

  “You know little about me.”

  Tired of her assumptions that had landed them both in this bloody mess, he caught her wrist. “On this you are wrong. From our time last eve, I know parts of you very well.” Beneath his thumb, her pulse sped up. Good, let her be nervous. Never would he harm her, but he’d not tell her that. “I have given my word to your father to protect you until his return.”

  “Why did you agree to watch over me?”

  The soft incredulity surprised him. He expected another blast of anger, but not confusion, or a sincere desire to understand. “Because I am a man of honor.”

  “And?”

  He’d thought her a creature of emotion, a touch spoiled, both perhaps true, but he’d missed the sharp intellect. With Angus as her father, he should have suspected as much.

  “I admire Lord Brom.”

  Surprise shifted to wariness. “He is your enemy, a man who is helping to plan a siege against English troops you support.”

  Careful with your reply. “Have you never admired someone with whom you disagreed?”

  “Mayhap.” She hesitated. “Why do you admire my father?”

  Numerous reasons came to mind as he recalled the years he’d known Lord Brom. A man not afraid to stand his ground, or hold a tender heart beneath the fierce mask he wore. A man whose heart still ached with loneliness years after his wife’s passing.

  Over the years Angus had become to him like a father, a man he’d admired for raising a daughter alone. Due to the sensitive nature of the contact between him and Lord Brom, Rois had never seen him. Never had he imagined one day that the Scottish lord would be the father of his wife. Life was filled with odd twists.

  “I admire your father because he is a man of principle, a man who one can always turn to for rationale when it seems to elude others.” Except with Rois. Information he wished he’d known earlier.

  “He is.” Lips pressed together, she studied him for a long moment.

  “For King Edward’s man, you seem to know my father well.”

  Tread carefully. “’Tis my job to be informed.”

  “Of the enemy.”

  “Of the situation.”

  She arched a skeptical brow. “And what are your plans for our situation?”

  At her nervous drawl, he relaxed. “I agreed to protect you while Lord Brom is away,” Griffin clarified. “Upon your father’s return to Kincardan Castle, I will convince him that with our countries at odds, our union is a poor idea.”

  She laughed, a soft sound that shot straight to his gut. “A poor idea—an understatement. Tell me, how will you achieve this when my father has made up his mind? Da is nae a man easily swayed.”

  Comfortable with this easy banter, Griffin nodded. “One of my strengths is negotiation.”

  “You may know my father from your research, but I have lived with him for eight and ten years.”

  “I have confidence in my abilities, my lady.”

  She shot him a cool glance. “Add arrogant to the list.”

  “The list?” he asked, curious.

  “Of your annoying traits.”

  A debate, if he allowed, could continue. “My lady, we must leave.”

  She stilled. Her face washed of color. “I am remaining here.”

  He sighed. “Your cousin offered us a chamber in Dunadd Castle.”

  Rois hesitated. “You spoke with Andrew about us?”

  “I did.”

  She slid her tongue over her lower lip in a nervous glide. Griffin assured himself he didn’t notice the moisture glistening upon her lips, a mouth he’d had the pleasure to taste. “Until our marriage is dissolved, there is little choice.”

  Panic flickered in her eyes. “I canna stay in the same chamber with you.”

  Griffin slowly inhaled, then released the calming breath. “Think you your father will allow you to remain here?”

  “If I stay with you, how can we claim we nae have . . .”

  “Consummated the marriage?”

  A flush swept her cheeks. “Aye.”

  “Worry not, I will do my part.”

  “Rest assured,” she stated, “you are the last person I would ever want to touch me.”

  Ego bruised, Griffin stepped closer. “Trust me, my lady, if I wanted you, you would be welcoming me.”

  Challenge flashed in her eyes. “Never would I want an Englishman.” “Proven by your release last eve?”

  Her hand shot out.

  He caught her wrist a whisper from his face. “Play not with what you do not understand. You are a maiden, an innocent, and know nothing of what I speak. Last night’s lovemaking was but a taste of the pleasures to be found.”

  The bravado in her eyes faded, exposing the nerves she fought to hide. She looked away.

  “Rois.” She didn’t look at him.

  Her body trembled.

  Moved by something so simple, he found himself needing to assure her. “I will keep you safe.”

  “Aye.”

  The belief in her words left him humbled. “Rois, why did you accept my touch when I am a man you despise?”

  She turned to him then, her look still wary, but he saw confusion as well. And if he looked closer, he saw something fragile, something he yearned to keep safe. Shaken by the emotions she stirred, he let her go.

  “Griffin?”

  His name upon her tongue slid over him like finely woven silk, and his body hardened. Irritated that he wanted her like the air he breathed, he stepped back. “I am going to speak with your father.”

  Her face cooled and any hint of warmth was erased from her voice. “I will nae go with you.”

  “My lady, you will not be given a choice.” With a warning look, Griffin spun on his heel and departed.

  Chapter Seven

  The cool morning air battered Griffin as he guided his mount over a decaying tree trunk littered with moss. Rocks clattered and leaves holding hi
nts of color swirled beneath the flash of hooves. He savored the rush of wind, the tang of fall rich in the breeze, a time when the earth rested to renew with the spring.

  Breaks in the trees exposed the familiar outline of the Highlands, the cast of rock as formidable as the Scots who prepared to fight. The home of Andrew de Moray, who, alongside William Wallace, would lead the Scottish rebels to battle in but days with the English against fierce odds.

  God help them.

  An image of Rois asleep flickered through his mind, of how he’d crept out of their chamber at Dunadd Castle after she’d fallen asleep. He’d not told her of his meeting with the Earl of Surrey this morn, nor would he. When she’d awoken and found him gone, was she relieved? Or, anxious for her father’s safety, did she give his absence little thought and rush to Kincardan Castle to be with her father these last precious hours before he rode away to battle?

  As Griffin neared the base of the mountain, the two rebel leaders rode from a copse of trees to meet him. His mount whinnied as he drew him to a halt. He nodded to de Moray as he reined in his steed before him, then to Wallace at his side.

  “Lord Monceaux,” de Moray said. “What news do you bring?”

  “We knew King Edward planned to send a large contingent,” Griffin said, his words somber, “but ’tis far worse than we anticipated. The Earl of Surrey and Hugh de Cressingham ride toward Stirling Castle with an army of around fifty thousand.”

  “Blast it,” Wallace muttered. “We have ten thousand men in our ranks at best.”

  “There is more.” Griffin took in the grim expression on each man’s face, damning the news he would impart. “They travel with heavy cavalry and Welsh archers.”

  De Moray cursed. “As with his razing of Berwick, Longshanks believes his sheer numbers can destroy the last of our rebellion. But in this he will fail.”

  Determination carved Wallace’s face. “Aye. We are far from weak-kneed lackeys who cower and run at the first sign of a fight. This is our land, and by God, we will stop King Edward’s forces before they reach Stirling Castle.”

  “Are there any changes to the original troop battle layouts we discussed?” Griffin asked. With so many untrained rebels in their ranks, he doubted that winning against the seasoned English warriors could be achieved.

  “Nay.” De Moray fisted his reins. “We will position our men along the hills of the bridge across the Forth, north of Stirling Castle. ’Twill give us the best advantage to attack.”

  Griffin rubbed his jaw. “Think you the Earl of Surrey is foolish enough to order his men to cross the bridge?”

  Wallace grunted. “With the boggy land, ’tis the quickest route across.”

  “It is,” Griffin said, far from convinced, “but they could ride to a ford a short distance away where knights can cross in great numbers.”

  “’Tis indeed an option which, if I led my men, I would consider,” de Moray agreed. “And one we must prepare for.”

  “Aye, that we will,” Wallace agreed. “Neither can we forget Hugh de Cressingham rides at the earl’s side and is holding the coin. However influential, he’s naught but a self-serving fool, one who embraces his power as much as his next meal.”

  Griffin smiled, as did his friends. “One would think a man of illegitimate birth would understand the struggles of the poor, use his ascension to become treasurer of the English administration in Scotland to build a bond between the English and the Scots. Instead, on both sides he has cultivated naught but dissent.”

  Wallace nodded. “Indeed, the Scots call him the Treacherer, and the English the Son of Death.”

  “He is a nasty lot,” de Moray agreed. “’Tis surprised I am he still breathes with so many despising him.”

  “Bloody luck,” Wallace said.

  “Mayhap at Stirling Bridge,” de Moray said, “we will see his luck and his reign of terror end.”

  Silence settled around them, a void thick with questions. Griffin caught glimpses of the rough-clad men hidden in the trees. How could they not worry? De Moray and Wallace led but a handful of ill-trained warriors against tens of thousands of seasoned English soldiers.

  Lord Brom, riding with additional troops, appeared on the horizon. Had Rois spoken with her father before he’d departed? He prayed so.

  Mirth sparkled in de Moray’s eyes. “You seem deep in thought. From your grimace, methinks you ponder if, upon his return, Lord Brom will let you out of the marriage?”

  Griffin grimaced. “He will see reason.”

  Wallace chuckled. “If asked, I agree with Angus that the true challenge will be in Rois allowing you to protect her while her father is away. She is nae a lass who cowers to a man, but is a proud, determined woman who holds her own. A trait gained upon her mother’s death.”

  Griffin remained silent. With Angus and Wallace close friends since their youth, he’d expect Angus to share his concern with Wallace.

  “Aye, ’twill be a shame to miss you attempting to bend my cousin to your will.” Lord Andrew smiled. “I think ’tis safer to ride into battle.” He glanced around and his expression sobered. “’Tis time to leave. Take care, my friend.”

  “Godspeed to you both,” Griffin said.

  “My thanks,” de Moray replied. “I wish you luck. To deal with my cousin, you will need that and more.”

  Wallace chuckled. “Aye.”

  De Moray whirled his horse and cantered toward where his men camped within the forest, Wallace riding at his side.

  Luck? Griffin frowned at his friends as they rode toward their men awaiting them, and dismissed de Moray’s comments about Lord Brom. He would protect Rois, regardless of whether she was willing. As for the annulment, once her father returned, he would see the insanity of not allowing Griffin to begin proceedings. For now, his prayers would be with the Scots. With the overwhelming odds they faced, they would need each and every one. With a heavy heart, he urged his mount to a canter and headed toward Kincardan Castle.

  “Da?” Rois called from the great room of Kincardan Castle.

  As Griffin suspected, she’d returned to her home. At the fragile hope in her voice, sadness weighted him. She believed her father had forgotten something and, however briefly, had returned.

  He stepped inside the great room, and his breath left him in a rush. Like a wayward fairy, Rois stood near the hearth, her chestnut hair wild and unbound, her ruby gown caressing her slender curves.

  Green eyes fell upon him, and her smile faded. “When I awoke without you in the chamber at Dunadd Castle, I thought you had left.”

  He ignored the coolness of her comment, and desired to step closer, to touch her. “I had an errand that needed my attention.”

  She remained silent.

  He walked to her, and she stiffened, her eyes wary. He held her gaze, let the crackle of burning wood fill the void. “You know me naught, a fact over the next few days that will change.”

  “With my father away, there is no need for us to remain together. I will be safe here. Kincardan Castle is well armed—”

  “And with most of its knights away—” Griffin interrupted.

  “Women can wield arms.”

  “They can, but I will take precautions to keep you safe until your father returns.”

  “Precautions?” She edged her tongue over her lip in a nervous slide. “You believe the Scots will lose and the English will storm this castle?”

  “I believe the battle will be vicious, and many a man will die—on both sides.” He said nothing further about the upcoming clash or his beliefs. ’Twas hard enough not riding alongside the Scots in their fight for freedom. Nor would he feed her worry further. How ironic that the wedding, however unwanted, had led to a timely reason why he couldn’t aid the English.

  Rois stroked her finger along the side of her gown, glanced up. “My father will return.”

  Nerves cradled her voice, the same he held for the safety of the Scots. “I pray he will.”

  Her alluring face settled into a wary fr
own. “You would pray for your enemy’s safety?”

  Intelligence sparked within her green eyes, intellect which lured him. The last thing he wanted to be with her was captivated. Her full curves and innocence drew him enough, but with each moment he spent in her presence, he wanted her more.

  “Rois,” he said, his words soft, a cadence he used to disarm, “our time together is not a battle.”

  “Considering your heritage and loyalty, how can it be otherwise?”

  “The days ahead can pass with peace or distrust. The choice is yours.”

  Rois studied the Englishman, confused by his candor. Or, did he offer her a false ploy? She’d heard of Lord Monceaux’s ability to negotiate peace in a tense situation. A strength Griffin had obviously employed to convince her da to entrust her care to him while away.

  He gestured to the door. “Let us go.”

  Her breath caught. He’d promised to keep her safe, but she’d assumed he’d meant in Scotland. “I refuse to travel to England.”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. “We will ride to a hiding place within a day’s ride.”

  A hiding place within a day’s ride? Her pulse raced. “Where?”

  “A cave hidden by a patch of thick brush alongside a large mountain.”

  A shiver swept through her. How could he know about Dunagn, the rebel hideout? Had her father told him? Nay, Da would never expose the secret mountain hideaway to the enemy. She knew of Sir Cressingham, the English treasurer’s, tortuous methods to gain information for the English. Had he employed his grisly methods upon a Scot to discover such a significant rebel hideaway?

  Regardless of how Griffin had acquired the information, she needed to warn the Scots the hideout was known to the English and no longer safe. She must slip away from Lord Monceaux and spread the word.

  “I canna go with you.” Rois walked to the hearth, far from warmed by the sweep of flames. Listen to her, she sounded like a shrew. She glanced over her shoulder. “Forgive me, ’tis nae that I am ungrateful for your offer of protection or doubt your abilities, but, ’tis simple. Neither of us wishes to be together.”

  Hazel eyes narrowed. “You will accompany me. How you travel is up to you.”